


Exceptional

by slappyjr



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Accidental Confession, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slappyjr/pseuds/slappyjr
Summary: "Spring at Wittenberg must be superior to spring anyplace else in the world."
Relationships: Hamlet & Horatio, Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Exceptional

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having trouble writing lately so I thought itd be worth it to revisit something I was really proud of. I wrote this in April for a fic trope meme on twitter for the trope of accidental confessions. Thanks, Lestat, for the prompt!

"Spring at Wittenberg must be superior to spring anyplace else in the world."

"Superior even to Elsinore, my lord?"

"By leagues. I find even a Danish summer put to shame by the vibrancy and vigor of Wittenburg in April."

Horatio watches as a breeze ruffles the hair on Hamlet's capless head. The fruit trees are not yet in bloom but they are full and green once more, and impossibly loud after the stifling silence of winter. Both men knew when they came to sprawl beneath the prince's favorite willow that they would achieve nothing for the whole of the afternoon. Even so, Horatio smooths the pages of his book and returns to skimming the same paragraph as he has already skimmed at least ten times over.

"Have you not one ounce of national pride?" he asks.

"Not one! Would that I were able to immigrate permanently so that I might never see another spring away from my dear Wittenberg."

"All Germany would rejoice at gaining as fine a citizen as you, my lord."

Hamlet plucks a weed from the ground and tosses it into his companion's open book. "Do you tease me, Horatio? Such friends I keep, that would find merriment in my despair."

"Is that what you're doing, my lord? Despairing?"

Hamlet laughs, falling back to rest his head on Horatio's thigh. "Could you not tell? Do you not see how I weep and sigh?" He looks at Horatio upside down, face split by a grin. "Oh, shame, Horatio, how you care so little for me!" Horatio laughs as well and finally concedes to the languor of the day, closing his book with the weed left to mark his place.

"I prostrate myself and beg your forgiveness."

"You are pardoned, good sir."

Horatio laughs again at Hamlet's haughty affectation. "Is it so terrible at Elsinore, truly?"

"No," Hamlet says fondly. "A Danish spring is rather agreeable."

"And the summer?"

"As wet as Germany is hot. I would not have it another way."

Horatio closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, head falling back to rest against the willow. "Then you have nothing to despair, my lord."

"Elsinore still lacks in other regards. Where else but Wittenberg could I rest my head upon the lap of my most dear and beloved Horatio?"

Horatio stills. This is unlike the declarations of fraternity and fellowship he and their companions are accustomed to. There is a softness to this, a slowness, Hamlet's noble veil fallen to reveal an authenticity to which Horatio has rarely found himself privy. He looks at Hamlet and finds the prince's eyes locked on the swaying boughs of the willow above, teeth worrying the inside of his lip. Quite suddenly, Hamlet stands.

"I am hungry," he says, dusting grass from his backside. "Come, Horatio."

Horatio hurries to his feet, kicking aside their books before Hamlet gets too far. He catches his wrist just at the edge of the tree's shade. Hamlet turns, the veil once again affixed securely over his countenance.

"Why allow such a thing to mar your estimation of Elsinore?" Horatio loosens his grip and cradles Hamlet's hand instead, thumb pressing into the flesh of his palm. Hamlet's schooled expression slips to reveal some eager hope. "Should you wish it, my lord, I will visit you at your home and you may rest your head upon my thigh, my chest, or my shoulder. Surely then Wittenberg will not seem so exceptional.

Hamlet barks a nervous laugh and closes his hand around Horatio's thumb as if to keep him from ever pulling away. "I fear Wittenberg shall always seem exceptional to me."


End file.
